I can close my eyes and dream about golden streets
Winged choirs of angels
Existing to love and praise
Seeing majesty outside the reach of imagination

Those same eyes open in the morning.
They are set upon a world containing dark, twisted minds 
Controlling unthinkably vicious hands
Hordes of people, tormentors and saints alike

That glimpse returns me to the reality of earth.
Back to another day.
I hate that my expectation of forever is damaged by the world each morning.
The same world I'm being saved from.

That concept of glory isn't a memory.
I've never seen anything like it.
I can't remember Heaven.
It hasn't happened, yet.